


Hey, Stranger

by suzannahbee123



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Butt stuff mentioned, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, One Night Stands, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suzannahbee123/pseuds/suzannahbee123
Summary: It’s your birthday, and you’ll take the gorgeous stranger that you just met five minutes ago in the club home with you if you want to…
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Hey, Stranger

It was dark in the club, low blue lights and a smokey haze making the space almost ethereal. Bodies move together, shouts and yells were lost in the deep bass of the music, and skin gleamed from glitter, from makeup, and the sweat of the wild dancing that was occurring with crazy abandon.

You hadn’t been to a club in so long, but it was your birthday, you were newly single and, well… why not?

People danced with you - total strangers. Men, women, both, neither. It didn’t matter to you, all that mattered is that you felt  _ good.  _ You knew you looked great - your credit card had made sure you could afford to look as fuckable as humanly possible. Now, it was just a game to play. Dance and smile with everyone, stick to drinking bottled water, and find that perfect someone to drag home and kill the self imposed abstinence with.

So far no one had caught your eye, which didn’t bother you as much as you had assumed it might, it just felt good to be out, to be a face in the crowd, and to dance the sour taste of a useless ex out of your mouth. 

Hands on your hips stop your thoughts about the breakup you had endured, and you spin to face the person who wilfully put their hands on you… and your jaw drops open.

_ Tall. Blonde hair. Possibly blue eyes. Shoulders wide enough to get stuck in doorways… _

You blink at the man, and attempt a smile. He smiles back - lips visibly pink even buried amongst the scruff of his beard - and mouths a greeting at you,

_ “Hey stranger.”  _ He’s still holding your hips, and you’ve unconsciously wrapped your arms around the back of his neck. The music is fast, but you’re happy to dance this one slow. You sway your hips against his, push yourself as close as possible to him, and mouth back,

“Hey yourself.”

He leans forward, speaks directly into your ear, “You gotta name?” his beard rubbed against the shell of your ear, immediately aking goosebumps erupt across your skin, and you’re suddenly desperate to find out how much better it will feel against  _ other  _ places. His voice is deep, even over the bass it’s rumble can be felt all the way down in your belly. You close your eyes and return the gesture, turning your face to his neck and pressing your own lips against his ear,

“Do we need names for this? Tell me if I’m wrong.” You know what you’re asking. You’re only in this for a night, you came alone and whilst you’re happy to leave with him, it won’t be permanent. Thankfully your new  _ friend _ looks relieved - almost  _ too _ relieved but you don’t dwell on that - and grins smugly at you,

“No names. You wanna get out of here?”

***

The Uber ride home is the good kind of tense, filled with silences that spoke volumes, looks that promised all kinds of pleasure, and his low timbered voice lilting to you from across the seat.

The man was so hot you felt you could combust just from a look at those large hands rubbing against the denim of his jeans suggestively. His thighs were  _ huge,  _ stretching the abilities of the dark and coarse material to its limits. You lick your lips and chance a look into those pretty sea blue eyes, feeling the weight of his hungry gaze like a physical caress,

“So… come to that club often?” You don’t know why you say it, and you cringe a little when the Uber drivers tuneless humming falters. The man grins slowly at you, it’s like looking at a wolf smiling at prey… he’s hungry and he’s going to make you  _ love  _ how well he devours you.

“I try to stay out of New York, but when I do…” again, his eyes rove over you, and he raises a hand to rub his fingers over his lips, “I’m not usually one for clubs, my friends would laugh at me if they heard I was there.” It’s not an entirely odd thing to say - you had your own friends who thought that clubbing was out-dated for someone of your age, that was why you had come on your own.

Apparently the hot man and you had at least one thing in common.

“I don’t usually. Go to clubs, I mean. At all. I mean-” he’s looking at you, moving closer, smelling like mint and something woodsy… he’s so close, he’s so warm… all your senses are engulfed by him and your poor attempt to explain yourself is ruined. 

But you try, anyway.

“I just ummm… wanted to go to a club. For a change.”

_ Nailed it. _

The man cages you against the door, completely ignoring the driver who grumbles about drunk clubbers ignoring road safety, and murmurs against your lips,

“I don’t care why you were there… just that you’re going to thank  _ god  _ by the time this night is over, sweetheart.”

You’re not sure if you’re relieved or enraged when the driver pulls up outside of your building and politely demands you both get out and to also leave a good review. You both stumble out after paying the man, and you quickly get you both inside and into the elevator. He holds your hand during the ride up to your apartment, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand in a surprisingly soothing gesture. You look at him, marvelling at how  _ gorgeous  _ he really is in the brighter lighting.

There’s something vaguely familiar about him…

“You sure you’re okay with this?” He asks, faint concern etched onto his face at your close scrutiny, “I can get a cab or…”

“No!” You’re quick - perhaps a little  _ too  _ quick - to stop him from leaving, and shake your head desperately, “No, please come up. I just… you’re really fucking hot.” A pink flush stains his cheeks, and you grin at the way he suddenly ducks his eyes. 

“Guess being hot is better than being cold, and I would know.”

“What?” You raise about eyebrow at him, but the ping of the opening elevator doors brings your attention back to where it really needs to be, and you all but drag him out and down the hallway to your apartment. The key trembles in your fingers, anticipation thickens the air and makes your heart race in the best way. You quickly grab the guy by the front of his shirt, bringing him close to you,

“What should I call you? I need something to  _ scream.” _ That wolf like smirk crosses his face again, making your knees tremble,

“Call me… Grant. But I hope your mouth is going to be too busy to do much talkin’, doll face.” 

You don’t know how you do it after that, but the key slides into the lock easily, you turn it, and you both fall into the dark apartment, lips finding each other desperately. He tastes like the edges of whiskey, deep, fiery, intoxicating and heady. Your head spins a little as he pushes you back further into your apartment and your back collides with the opposite wall, clattering the picture that hangs there. A gasp escapes your lips, but it segues into a moan when his mouth trails from your lips to your neck and you finally start to feel how  _ good  _ that beard burns,

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

“No, this feels…” it feels amazing to be wanted this much that time is something to be devoured. That there are no lingering seconds and halting minutes that can be used to enjoy leisurely enjoy each other’s pleasure. There’s just the  _ now,  _ the  _ present,  _ the hot steel of his muscles as you pull at his shirt, and his strong fingers as they rip the seams of your dress right from your body.

His strength should scare you, at least make you second guess who it was you invited into your space, but the way he was thumbing your nipples and tonguing your pulse point left no words or coherent thoughts in your head. Your nails scratch over his stomach muscles, the way they jump under your touch causes the small inner muscles deep inside you to clench in need.

You’ve barely got a good look at the man half naked and you’re ready to fall to your knees for him, mouth salivating at the thought of what he was going to feel like  _ everywhere. _ Apparently ‘Grant’ has the same idea as you, he grips your chin in one hand, your wrists in another, lays a bruising kiss on you and then pushes on your shoulder so you’re kneeling before him in just your panties and heels, your arms raised above your head. His blue eyes shine at you, the blonde in his hair glitters like a halo around his head, even in the dim lighting.

The devil had once been an angel, after all, and this man was ready to make you sin for him… and you were ready to comply.

“Open.” His command is deep, but laced with a tempting smile. His free hands pulls on the button of his jeans, and he just pushes them down far enough to get his cock free. Your mouth drops open at the sight - regardless of his demand of you. His cock is long, thick enough that you could already feel the burn he would give you, and leaking just a drop of pre cum at the tip. You swipe out your tongue to taste, and hum. 

Bitter sugar. Nectar and salt.

There’s a muscle jumping in his jaw, his grip is almost white knuckled on the base of himself. You have a half formed thought that maybe it had been a  _ long  _ time for him too, when he pulls his hips away far enough your tongue can’t reach him, and then knocks the head of his cock against your cheek, leaving a small wet spot. He growls low in his throat, and you clench again, wetness pooling heavily in the gusset of your underwear,

“I said open. Stick your tongue out, doll face.” You do, eagerly, and his responding smile is dark, butterflies erupt at the sight of it, “Good girl.”

Then he thrusts inside your mouth, the hand that had an iron grip on himself goes to your cheek, holding your face steady and his thumb kept pressure to hold your jaw open for him. You relaxed your throat as much as possible, tried to breathe through your nose. He  _ possessed  _ you, engulfing you completely. There was no light but the needy shine in his eyes, no smell or taste that didn’t emanate from his pores, no person on planet earth that wasn’t  _ this man… _

“Good girl… good  _ fucking  _ girl… such a good mouth, look so pretty swallowing me like this.” The cords of muscle in his neck hypnotise you, they stand out in stark relief against the golden hue of his lightly tan skin. There’s a vague wonder if he’s been travelling, you notice that there are small tan lines around the base of his throat that show the sun never got to the skin of his (ridiculously impressive) chest… but then he’s let your wrists go, and holds your head in both large hands, fucking into your mouth with a firm strength. 

“Use one hand on my dick and the other on my balls, rub ‘em, don’t squeeze, or I’ll spank you.” There’s sensual promise in his words. You don’t know this man, but you’re certain he would make good on the promise, make it hurt so good that you would want more. Spanking had never interested you before now… but the thought of being over his lap made yet another rush of heat run through you. You gave a small experimental squeeze, humming at the growl that came from him, and then did as asked. 

It didn’t take long, you ran your tongue over his head, under the length of his shaft, and hollowed out your cheeks, sucking him greedily. His thrusts into your face got sloppier, harsher, and on a groan, he came. Hot and thick ropes shot down your throat, and you closed your eyes, breathing harshly through your nose so you could swallow without gagging.

As soon as you finished, Grant grabbed you back up, kissing you so quickly you barely had time to breathe, and then murmuring,

“That was beautiful, sweetheart. Think you deserve a reward for that.” He barely sounded winded, another thing that  _ should’ve  _ rung some alarm bells, but you didn’t get much of a chance to consider the fact his recovery time was apparently non existent, before he moved you over to the desk in the corner of the small living room, and promptly bent you face first over it. Your thighs trembled when you heard him move your wheely chair behind you, and sit down on it.

You could just make him out in the reflection of your computer screen, staring at your rounded out ass, and rubbing his hand thoughtfully over his beard. Your face felt hot enough to burn at the scruitiny, the feeling of his fingers reaching for the waistband of your panties solicited a barely vocal whimper to escape you.

God you  _ wanted  _ his mouth on you more than you wanted air to breathe.

The air reached your cunt a second later when your panties were swiftly pulled down and off your legs, casually thrown into the depths of your apartment. His hot breath swiftly cooled against your hot and wet lower lips. You jumped a little when his hands touched your cheeks, spreading you open for him, desire leaking from you and bringing a smile to his face.

“Well, don’t you just look good enough to eat, sweetheart.”

“Oh,  _ god,  _ I hope so!” You met his eyes in the reflection, and that was all it took, his mouth latched onto your cunt like a starving man, his tongue swirling swiftly around your clit and then plunging into your channel. You squirmed back against his mouth, wanting more, needing  _ everything  _ that he was going to give you. The fist push of two of his thick fingers into you made your back arch, a keen of sound escaping you, “Grant… oh my  _ god-”  _ He suddenly stood up and over you, keeping his fingers inside, rubbing and stroking your inner walls, finding that spot that made you see stars. His thumb swiped gently over the tight ring of muscle of your asshole. A gasp flew out of you… but the shock of sensation wasn’t  _ bad.  _ It was… kind of okay, actually.

“You ever been fucked back here, sweetheart?” When you shook you head quickly, but didn’t pull away, he pressed a little firmer, trailing circles over the skin, and never letting up on finger fucking you, “You want to be?” You can’t answer, not in words… it’s all too much, it’s not enough…

A fire is burning inside you, pressure building. Grant places a quick kiss to one cheek, presses his tongue against your back passage on a hum and a promise to come back to it later, and then flips you onto your back. His thumb goes to your clit, and he thrusts determinedly against your g-spot,

“Play with your tits for me, gorgeous. Let me see how pretty you are coming for me when you’re touching yourself.”

_ Oh god. _

Your fingers tremble as you touch them to the pebbled buds of your nipples, and yet more pleasure spreads across your skin. It’s like cotton candy electricity - appearing from nowhere and covering your entire body in a matter of seconds. Grant is the one controlling it, the heat, the tempo, and the pleasure burns and spikes…

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growls at you, leaning over you so his hair falls over his face, a golden cocoon to seal you in for his eyes only, “all over my hand.” A brush of his lips on yours, and that’s all it takes.

You cry his name out to the ceiling, your back arches off the hard surface of the desk, and for one stunning moment, you completely forget your own name under the onslaught of ecstasy that rips through you. You just barely hear the clatter of your shoes as Grant pulls them off, and moan when his fingers are pulled out of you. You can just make out a crinkling sound, and a second later - your cunt still clenching in aftershocks - he pushes his way into you in one quick thrust.

Another orgasm hits you out of the blue when his cock hits deep inside. He chuckles in your ear, mutters low words about how tight and hot you feel around him, before he gathers you in his arms and lifts you up. You legs automatically circle around his waist, and your arms constrict around the back of his neck in more than a little shock.

He’s still buried inside you when he starts walking you towards your bed. There’s a moment where you wonder when he got rid of his jeans and shoes, and a slightly longer second where you ponder just  _ how  _ strong this guy appears to be… but your foot taps his backside as he moves and your concentration is no longer on such unimportant matters of strength.

This guy's ass could bounce  _ pennies _ .

Your back hits the soft blankets on top of your mattress, and you quietly cringe at the fact that it was in complete disarray, and that the sheets probably needed cleaning… but Grant tilts your head back so he can kiss you. 

There’s no space in between your bodies, his firm muscle presses deliciously into the softer curves of your own body. His tongue invades your mouth, tangling with yours. He starts pulling out of you, the length of him stretching enough to make your eyes roll back in your head. You plead for him to fuck you harder, quicker, but Grant takes his time. Shallow thrusts drive you to the brink of insanity, his hot tongue on your neck, across the slopes of your breasts, the peaks of your nipples, chased with the cool breath he blows across the saliva slick skin makes goosebumps set up home across the expanse of your skin.

Grant takes his time fucking you, completely at odds to how he was when you let him in to your apartment. It takes all night, but he has you in every way imaginable, every way that you missed and needed.

His large hands stretch your legs wide, and he ruts into you like an animal. He makes you sit on him, and ride him slow, holding the side of your head so you look into his eyes as he thumbs your clit with slow precision. His grip is firm when he fucks up into you hard enough that the mattress bounces off the wooden floor. He takes you from behind, pushing your face into your pillows, and then fucks you standing up against the wall.

Grant uses your mouth, your cunt, and - after discovering some lube in your bedside drawer - carefully fingers your ass before fucking you there too. 

He’s rough with you, you know your skin will be tender with bruises. He’s soft with you, endorphins flood your system. He growls and he whispers, his palms caress as often as they playfully spank and smack and pinch. His kiss demands surrender, even as he holds you so tenderly…

Grant possesses you until the stars disappear, the moon lands on the other side of the horizon, and the birds begin to chirp. 

The air is too hot, and it smells of sex and the cinnamon scent from the hidden bottle Grant had now emptied. Your sheets are ruined, and you have the vague thought that you should probably replace them… or burn them. But you’re too busy staring silently up at the man who was easing out of your arms and gathering up his clothes.

You couldn’t move, were pretty certain that you wouldn’t be able to walk for the foreseeable future… but you still reached out for him. Just the tiniest whine entered your voice,

“You can stay. If you want.” Sea blue eyes land on yours, as the low beginnings of sunlight hit his face. There’s a sadness there that you hadn’t expected… and a thrill of something that felt like recognition - but  _ couldn’t  _ be - went through you.

“I… I can’t. I’m sorry. I Uh… I had a great time though.” His face flushes at that, and he shoves his legs into his jeans. The muscles in his back move like poetry when he pulls his shirt on, and you sigh, nodding slightly,

“Yeah. Me too… thank you.” Sleep is dragging you under, and you have just the presence of mind to send a text to work to say you were too sick to come in before you start to let the pull of  _ rest  _ take you under.

Grant was going to make a great memory to keep in your dreams…

“It’s Steve… by the way.”

You snap your eyes open, staring at the man as he stands at your door, hand on the door handle. There’s something about the way he looks at you, shoulders thrust back, and gentle smile-

_ Oh shit. _

“Maybe I’ll see you next year, birthday girl. Thank you.”

He leaves then, and you fall back on the bed, alone with the incomprehensible knowledge that you had just had the most debauched sex with Steve Rogers - Captain America. You look at your phone again…

_ Only three hundred and sixty four days until my next birthday… _

***

Steve sighed when he left the building and saw Nat waiting for him, arms crossed and her white blonde hair pulled back with a black headband. She was in running clothes, but there was no scent of sweat on her - she was just blending in with the crowds out to run at this time of morning.

Judging by the wrinkle of her nose though -  _ he  _ certainly smelled, and definitely of more than just perspiration.

He rolled his eyes at the huff of impatience that escaped from Nat and handed her the drive that they had come to New York for in the first place.

“I was careful. The guy in the VIP section was too busy ogling the women to notice that I wasn’t really drunk when I stumbled into him and took it.” Steve tried to reassure his friend, to no avail. Nat didn’t say anything, hell, her face barely moved, but he knew she was annoyed at him.

But when he had seen you in that club… he couldn’t help himself. You were lost and alone, just like him. You wanted a connection…

Just like him.

He missed The Avengers, missed the sense of family it had given him. Working with Nat and Sam undercover - trying to right small wrongs before they could turn into large catastrophes - certainly eased the pain of Germany, Siberia, and Wakanda. But it wasn’t like before.

The warmth he shared in the beds of Natasha or Sam (or sometimes both) came at the cost that they all knew what the others had done to wind up where they were right now.

Alone. Even when they were together.

Being with  _ you -  _ a stranger who didn’t recognise him thanks to his longer hair and almost shaggy beard - had eased that hurt a little. You were a beautiful stranger, and he was just a guy that could give you simple pleasures when you had needed it. Steve sighed and started to walk away, Nat hot on his heels.

A year wasn’t  _ that _ long. Hopefully he could see you again.

  
  
  
  



End file.
